Please don’t sit next to me, Why did I pick this seat, and other frequent thoughts while taking the train to work, Part II

(See Part I here.)

Because invariably, you will sit down next to one of these people on your commute to work.

The Hope He Doesn’t See You Guy
You spy a guy whom you really dislike on the train, and immediately start praying that he hasn’t spotted you. You try to keep your face planted in your book, but of course you make the big, BIG mistake of looking his way one too many times. Inevitably, eye contact is made, and he beelines over to talk with you, which he will continue to do the entire time you are commuting to work. You send him constant, countless “Okay, great speaking with you, our conversation is now over” signals, but he never takes the hint. Of course you are at the very start of your long, slow journey when this conversation begins. And you can bet your last staple that on this particular ride there will be some kind of “sick passenger / police investigation / mechanical issue with the doors” that will cause excruciatingly long delays along your route to work.

The Praise Jesus Guy
You sit down next to a guy who seems very plain and innocuous, but as soon as people have settled into their seats and the train starts to move, he stands up, smiles with his eyes closed and chin raised towards the heavens, and begins to loudly sermonize: “Praise heavenly Jesus, for HE died for OUR sins…”

The “Excuse Me, Excuse Me” Woman
For a while you aren’t even intentionally ignoring her, because you have no idea that she is talking to you. People don’t normally address you directly on the subway – even people you know that just happen to be in the same train car as you — but you soon realize that the continuous stream of “Excuse me, excuse me, excuse me” is meant to get your attention. When someone actually does address you like this and you realize it, you normally just try to ignore them and they move on. But this woman does not give up, so you’ve got to do something to stop her broken record-like interruption: “Yes?” you finally say. “Can you spare some change?” she asks. “No,” you say, annoyed, and so she finally moves on to the next person: “Excuse me, excuse me, excuse me…”

The Nose Picker
It starts with a few loud sniffles. That’s annoying enough, as you think, “Great, I’m going to catch this idiot’s cold.” Of course that’s just the risk you take every time you get on the subway, so you really don’t get too worked up about it. But then the hand starts rubbing the nose a little too frequently. Finally, you start to notice some focused itching, and before you even have time to turn away, you see a finger inserted right into the nostril. Once it’s in there, you know it’s going to dig around, for a person who isn’t shy about a nose cleaning on the subway is a tried and true nose picker. He works it hard. He uses technique. He probes and scrapes until he gets his prize. And you have to watch — you have to make sure this person doesn’t flick anything in your direction. You have to be ready to dodge, or block…something, anything to avoid being contaminated by a booger from your nose-picking fellow commuter.

The Newspaper Reader
All of the sudden, it’s like you’re inside of a tent. The guy next to you has thrown open his paper as if you are not sitting there — he’s reading the sports section, and in your face is some giant full page ad for a cheap suit blowout. He flips the page, and not only does his elbow grind into your shoulder, but his paper actually makes contact with your face. It was a light touch, but you know how newsprint is – you’ve probably got an ink smudge on your nose.

The Coffee Spiller
He’s a gangly fellow, frumpy, and of course he’s wearing a corduroy sports jacket with patches on the elbows. His briefcase is jam packed with papers and under one arm is a 600-page hardback fantasy fiction novel. And in his hand he is holding, rather lackadaisically, a large cup of coffee. Your eyes focus on the cup and notice that the white lid is stained brown, and that pools of coffee have formed at the top. Then you see the streaks along the side of the cup. This guy is a spiller, and from his get-up and aloof demeanor you can tell he’s the worst kind of spiller – the kind that doesn’t even notice that he’s dripped coffee on you. You try and edge yourself as far away as possible, squeezing your legs together and leaning hard into the subway car’s wall. But there’s no place to run, no way to hide. He throws back a swig and in what seems like slow motion, you see the drips from his careless sipping fall right onto your leg, some of it even hitting the bare skin of your arm. You say, “Hey, watch your coffee,” and the guy barely looks up from his book. “Oh, um, sorry.” The half-assed apology makes you even angrier. Seeing the brown stain on your pants – which, naturally, you have to wear for the duration of the day — makes you seriously consider punching the guy in the gut and then kicking him, over and over, while he’s down.

The Nail Clipper
She sits down next to you, digs in her bag for what seems like an hour, finally finds what she’s looking for, and settles down. Then, all of the sudden, you hear the distinct sound of someone clipping their finger nails – though you don’t recognize it at first, of course, being on a train and all. Unfortunately, even though you’ve angled yourself away from any flying debris, you’re wearing a short sleeve shirt and start to feel things hit your arm – are you imagining it, or are this woman’s nail clippings launching into the air and hitting you? You make a mental note to wipe down your arm when you get to work.

The Powdered, Lemon-Filled Donut Eater
You’re wearing your brand new, expensive black pants, and thinking you look pretty damn hot, so hot, in fact, that people are definitely checking you out, when low and behold, some dolt sits down next to you, tears open his Dunkin’ Donuts bag, and sloppily shoves a powdered, lemon filled donut in his mouth. He’s not even really chewing, just opening his mouth and swallowing, but the powdered sugar is blanketing your new pants with the doggedness of a winter snow storm.

The Loud Talkers
Most people just read, sleep, zone out to their tunes, or stare into space on the subway. Some people write in notebooks, while others play games or make notes on their PDAs/cell phones. There’s chatter, of course, but usually you can’t hear what people are saying to each other. That is unless they’re Loud Talkers. They take over. They act like they’re in the comfort of their own home, and blather on about personal business – usually somebody else’s business. “Well, then she told him she didn’t want to see him anymore, but, you know, they’re still together. She just can’t leave him. And I’m sick of hearing about it.” Aren’t we all, dear.